


One Small Candle

by MizzAdamz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Loneliness, POV Severus Snape, Poetry, Severus Snape Lives, deepperplexity's Snapemas 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27834997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizzAdamz/pseuds/MizzAdamz
Summary: An entry for Depperplexity's Snapemas 2020 using the prompt for day 17 LonelinessSnape is spending the longest night of the year alone as is tradition.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 10
Kudos: 88
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	One Small Candle

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to SnapeSupercedesSocialization for being an incredible cheerleader and Beta.

The wind was whipping the driving winter rain against the fragile glass of his single pane windows. They rattled ominously and Severus made a mental note to get some more linseed putty to secure them. Hopefully, the ancient glass would survive the storm so he could do that repair and save himself the cost of new windows.

It would be better if he replaced the decrepit things with a more modern double or triple-glazed windows, and it would save his heating bills, but Severus loathed the look of that lifeless plastic made to look like painted wood. 

The new windows would most likely cost more than what the house was worth, anyway. This mill-worker’s house was rotting around him, it was only because of sheer stubbornness that Severus still lived in his childhood home.

It was easier to stay where he was, even after the war. The stress of moving his life into an unfamiliar place was just not worth it for the man who had defined his life by making restitution for the sins of his past.

No, it was better to go to the local hardware shop, purchase a fiver’s worth of putty, and just secure the glass to prevent it rattling in its housing.

The carriage clock on the mantle gave 4 tinny chimes, and Severus sighed. He put the book he was reading down on the scuffed wooden side table beside his faded armchair. He stood up and walked to the mantle.

Reaching behind the clock, he picked up a brass key and opened the face of the clock and inserted the key into the poorly camouflaged opening above the number 6. He turned the key until he met with resistance, removed the key and closed the cover. After putting the key back behind the clock, he grabbed a single cream dinner candle from a plastic covered cardboard box. 

Severus then moved to the windows he had been contemplating moments earlier and removed a wax stub from a battered and tarnished candle stand; replacing it with the fresh candle.

Making his way back to the mantle, he placed the stub into another smaller box and lifted a long wax taper. He bent down, lit the taper from the fire that crackled in the hearth, then carried the flame to the candle in the window.

The wind blew again, kicking up rubbish and vegetable matter and pelting the sides of the house as if it was trying to break into the house and blow out the fragile flame in Severus’s hand.

He ignored the wind and bent down to hold the burning taper to the wick of the candle.

“One small candle,   
Casts a little light   
One small candle,   
Chase away the night.” he whispered in a soft silken voice as the flame leapt from the taper in his hand onto the candle.

“For you Mam,”he said as he looked at the two flames for a moment and then shook the taper to extinguish it.  
He walked across the small room and put the taper back into the box with the stumps of the candles who had done their service in his own private ritual.

He looked at the state of the fire in his hearth and added some more coal to the flames, darkening the room. With only the light of the single flickering candle in the window, the darkness of the year’s longest night seemed to swallow Severus’s childhood home. 

The candle flame danced in the window, the draft making its seat unstable, and it almost looked like it was going to jump off the wick and race outside to leave him alone.

Severus shook his head, waved his wand, and three more candles lit up around the room. He needed to stop reading the Russian classics during midwinter; it made him ridiculously maudlin.

But like the single candle in the window, it was a tradition to read about long dark winters where people loved and suffered in equal measure. To not read Tolstoy by the fire would mean he would lose another connection to his mother.

No, keeping to the traditions was best. Besides, what would he do in their stead? Creating a new tradition would just be more hassle. So he decided to keep sitting out the longest night with an old book and a candle lit without magic.

Severus settled back into his own chair when the wind howled again and something loud crashed into his door. Maybe one of the neighbour’s bins had blown into his front garden. 

If he left it, they would collect it in the morning, so Severus stayed in his seat and reached for his book.

The bin crashed into his front door again, twice.

Severus was going to have to move it, just to prevent it from damaging the door any further. He closed his book and walked to the hall, not bothering to bring a candle with him. He knew his home well and didn’t need much more light than what came from his front room to navigate.

He opened the door, and instead of one of his neighbour’s wheelie bins there stood a person huddled against the weather and holding something close to her chest.

“Professor?” the crouched form asked, trying to see in the gloom.

“Yes?” 

“Oh good! May I come in out of the rain? I won’t stay long. I just wanted to give you your Solstice gift.” The now obviously female voice rushed out, ducking her head against another gust of wind.

“Yes,” Severus groaned. “Come in.” He opened the door wider and pulled his former student out of the weather.

“Follow me,” he snapped and walked back to the light of his fire.

The unidentified student followed behind him, dripping on the floor as she went.

Severus turned when he got into the room and watched the hooded figure come into the light. 

She walked confidently and when she entered the room; she looked around at his bookshelves and gasped. The heavy hood fell off her head and brown bushy hair expanded to fill the surrounding space. Granger.

Of course it was Granger, who else would brave a winter storm to give him a box that would most likely be stale shortbread or something equally nondescript.

Potter must have told her where he lived. Damn that boy three times over.

“Wow Professor, this is cozy,” the girl gushed, looking longingly at his collection of Ancient Runes texts.

“As cozy as a house with 100-year-old windows can be in this weather.” He dismissed her interest. Small talk annoyed him at the best of times. “You said you had something for me?” He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her his patented ‘you are wasting my time’ glare.

“Yes!” Hermione flushed and opened up her sodden cloak to expose a large box wrapped in a gaudy metallic red paper and covered with a gold glitter covered ribbon that shed on his floor. The micro plastic landed in the growing puddle at her feet. 

No magic user had perfected a charm to banish glitter effectively, Severus knew he would find traces of it for months to come thanks to her desire to appear festive.

The flame from the candle in the window danced in the draft.

“Here, sir, Happy Solstice.” She extended the parcel to him with two hands.

Severus dutifully took it and grunted when he absorbed the weight of the box. If it was shortbread, Hagrid must have made it with gravel.

He held it out away from his person, unwilling to spread the glitter contamination to his clothes. He placed the package on the low coffee table and stood up to look at Granger.

She was wearing a dark purple cloak, made darker by the storm outside. Her hair was as wild and unkempt as ever, under her cloak she wore a modest set of black robes and a battered beaded bag hung from her wrist.

“Thank you, Miss Granger,” Severus said, opening his hand to guide her back outside.

“Please open it,” Hermione asked and noticed the puddle at her feet, “OH, let me fix this.” She waved her wand. The water at her feet vanished, and the glitter appeared to vanish. 

Severus knew better, those particles were deceptive. 

“Fine,” he sighed and bent down to tug on the tail of the gold ribbon. The overly enormous bow undid with very little effort, but clouds of glitter exploded into the air despite his minimal movements.

As the ribbon came undone the folded ends of the paper lifted gently as if the paper was tired of being confined and wanted to return to its pristine state immediately. He thought it ridiculous that he sympathised with shiny pressed wood pulp.

Using a single finger, he unfolded the paper and laid it down flat on his table and exposed a carved oak box. The box had stylised leaves and berries carved into the wood, and in the middle of the hinged lid was the relief of a doe who was looking over her shoulder to the right.

Hermione was bouncing on the balls of her feet as Severus was looking at the box, as if she was the one receiving the gift.

“Thank you, Miss Granger. This is exquisite.”

“Oh, that’s not all. May I?” Hermione stepped forward and ran her fingers over the top edge of the lid. As her fingers touched an acorn, the doe came to life and looked at Severus and crouched down as if to leap. She then did just that and ran into the cover of the leaves on the left of the box.

“You can only open the box when the Doe is visible, when she is hiding in the copse not even the strongest unlocking spell will open the chest.”

“Fascinating, where did you find this?” Severus asked, “how do I call her back?”

“When I key the lock to you, all you will have to do is touch the same acorn here.” Hermione brushed the same spot with her fingertip again. The doe ran from the right and stopped in the middle, looking over her shoulder again.

“And?”

“Oh, I made it.” Hermione shrugged.

“That is an impressive bit of spell work and carving, Miss Granger.” Severus acknowledged.

The girl blushed a little at his praise and then waved her hand. 

“Let me key the lock to you and then I’ll leave you be,” she said, ”open the chest.”

Severus did and saw that the chest wasn’t empty. She had filled it with the expected shortbread, but also various other selections of tray bakes and tins of what looked like some expensive teas.

Hermione ignored the contents of the chest and drew his attention to the tip of an exposed nail near the back of the lid. 

“I had an accident putting the lid together, but I then thought of a way of making the mistake,” she touched the nail, “a feature of the spell.” Hermione then swallowed a little nervously, “I know, sir, that some people wouldn’t appreciate what I have done here, but I had hoped you of any would understand it.” She gave a slight shrug, “It’s not dark magic, not really.”

Severus straightened up and looked down his nose at his former pupil. She was dabbling in the dark arts _and_ she was using them to make him a gift. 

Hermione Granger, muggle born witch and best friend of the Boy Who Refused to Die, was making trinkets with dark magic. Then she used the same arts to contaminate his home with _glitte_ r. He wouldn’t tolerate it. He took in a breath to tell her to take her gift and leave his sphere immediately when she blindly blustered forward.

“I cut my hands working with the wood so often that there is bound to be a bit of my blood tied to the magic in the lock, and I didn’t want anyone else to open the chest so I changed the spell work so that the most recent donor and those who share a genetic link to them would be the only ones who can open it. Then this nail broke through and I thought it best if only blood drawn by it could key the lock. So while one could consider it dark, it really is just a simple reworking of the sympathetic spell that helped me animate the Doe.” Her voice started out fast and high pitched and slowed down as Severus visibly relaxed.

“I am familiar with the magic you are hinting at. It is like some wand makers. Splinters often create sympathetic links in the wood.”

“Yes!” Hermione said, bouncing on her feet again, “I knew you of all people would understand!”

“That doesn’t explain why you put so much effort into creating a sympathetic locking tea chest for me, though, Miss Granger.”

“It’s your Solstice gift,” she said plainly.

“A box of shortbread would have been sufficient if you truly felt the obligation.”

“No, it wouldn’t have.” Hermione shook her head and reached out to him. “May I have your hand, sir? I’ll key the lock to you and leave you to it.”

Severus sighed and placed his hand in hers. She guided it to the nail and looked up at him, “I’m sorry.”

Severus gave a brisk nod, “I know what is to happen, just do it.”

Hermione bit her lip and pushed the pad of his index finger against the nail. It was dull and shouldn’t have punctured his skin, but Hermione muttered a simple slicing hex and the skin under the nail split neatly and oozed blood over the iron tip. 

“Brave is the doe who knows when to hide,  
Brave is she who is my guide.  
Protect your charge with light and grace,  
Them and their progeny in this space.  
Blood seals our pact, keep it true,  
Rest gentle soul, as is your due.” When she finished her spell, a blue light rippled from the tip of the nail and over the carved oak before sinking into the wood.

Hermione pulled his finger away from the nail and sang a simple note and the wound on his hand sealed itself painlessly.

What she had done with this box was beautiful. The spell work was elegant, and the charm was more secure than a single Latin word commonly used for such spells. She had been very thorough in her designing of the gift.

She held his hand a moment too long, and the detail and craftsmanship of her spell distracted Severus. He didn’t notice until she let go of his hand and it fell without his control.

“Happy Solstice Professor,” Hermione said with a sad distant smile and made to pull up her hood.  
She turned to notice the candle in the window; the draft making it burn unevenly and drip to the side.

“One small candle,   
Casts a little light   
One small candle,   
Chase away the night.” She sang in a breathy alto and lifted her hood over her unruly mane.

Unable to stop himself, Severus said the next line.  
“So much darkness,  
small bright light”

“You know the darkness  
Cannot stand the light.” Hermione finished with a bright smile.

He thought only he and his mother knew the little poem, but she seemed to know it too.  
Then, there was her presence here on the darkest of nights, with an aggressive winter storm shaking his windows.

Severus wasn’t typically one to look for supernatural meanings in everyday events, but something made him think his Mam was watching him and smiling. He knew he couldn't send her out in the weather; he knew he didn’t want to be alone; the tradition be damned.

“Miss Granger, would you like to stay and help me sample one of these teas you gifted me?” He asked and held out his hand, ”let me take your cloak and hang it by the fire.”

Hermione quickly removed her outer garment and handed it over to him, her face flushed and bright, ”thank you Severus.” 

He hung the cloak up and picked up his kettle from the hearthstone and filled it with a quick Aguamenti and placed it on the cast iron trivet above the fire. 

“I will be a moment,” he said as he excused himself and went to his kitchen to find the least chipped of his tea cups. They were all stained after years of use, but his Mam always told him to never use soap on a teapot or a cup.

He brought a thrown together tea service in a battered wooden tray back into the room to find Hermione standing where he had left her, looking up at his Ancient Runes text again.

“The Queen stopped visiting here in the 70s so we never updated the china.” Severus tried to joke as he put the tray down.

His attempt at humour seemed well received as Hermione gave a soft giggle and smiled at him.

“Which title is it?” he asked as he straightened. She was more controlled in her adulthood than she had been in her student days, but she still lacked any subtlety.

“Is that a copy of Ancient Runes of the Orient by Sone Masiko?” Hermione could barely contain her excitement as Severus nodded.

“It is, though it is written in Kanji.” Severus reached up behind himself and grabbed the book without looking at it. “Would you like to look at it?” He offered.

Suddenly he was surrounded by the warm and slightly damp arms of his guest, and she gave him a fierce hug, “Yes, I would please! That would be wonderful!” She bounced while holding his middle. 

Severus held the book up in the air as she wiggled around him, squealing in a rather high pitch.  
“Unhand me woman so I can give you the blasted book,” Severus snapped. 

Hermione quickly retreated and stood sheepishly in front of him, but she didn’t stop her whistling, which was strange for her.

Then Severus realised the kettle was doing the whistling. He grunted and handed her the book before turning to tend to the kettle.

As he looked down, he caught a flash of light bouncing off the dark wool of his clothing.

She had transferred gold glitter from her own robes to his ones of lambswool.

The contamination would be permanent, though for some reason he didn’t seem to mind.

Severus poured the boiled water into his stained teapot. It might do to replace the old thing. A fresh start for the new year might be a novel idea.

He sat down in his chair and started a conversation with his house guest.

The candle flame danced in its molten lake, looking out into the darkness, reaching out into the night with a gentle little glow. 

A pale shadow walked along the edge of the illuminated space and the wind seemed to sing, “For you my boy.”


End file.
